“Seriously,” I tease.

His gaze softens and concentrates further on the subtle strokes of the tattoo gun in his hands. Wiping ink away with a soft cloth.

“After my wife died I felt like I was dead inside. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Death himself had his hands around my throat,” he says, emotion cracking his tone of voice.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It hurt like a bitch, but I needed it at the time,” Enzo says, inspecting his work once more on my forearm.

“Is it normal to be so sexually attracted to your tattoo artist?” I ask, biting my lip as I try not to smirk or laugh.

“Tattooing is an intimate creation of art,” he says suavely, his Italian playboy grin in full effect.

As he runs the needle across my forearm back and forth shading across my skin, I wince in pain. The stinging stronger that previously, but not bad for my first tattoo. He runs a soft cloth one more time on my forearm before pushing back on the stool beside me and setting the tattoo gun on the tray beside him. I look down at the quarter-sized tattoo on my forearm and words escape me. A claddagh with red and green shadowed around the hands.

A claddagh and the Italian flag colors.

“I know it’s important for you to embrace both cultures of your family,” Enzo says, his thumb grazing across my skin.

“Bellissima,” I whisper.

He reaches on the tray beside him and puts a small dot of lotion on his finger and runs it across my tattoo before putting a small clear bandage over the top of it. His fingers smoothing out the wrinkles to the edges of the bandage.

“I can’t stop your feelings for Finn, amore. I won’t stand in the way,” he says, his voice soft and solemn.

“Enzo, you said you were in love with me,” I whisper.

“I know what I said, but Finn is very much a part of you,” he says, his fingers lingering across my arm.

“Enzo, I sat here and let you tattoo my naked skin. I don’t know what I feel or the extent of my feelings, but I do know that I have feelings for you both,” I say, my fingers grasping for his hand, but he pulls away.

“It’s clear that you are trying to own your sexuality and I won’t stand in the way of that,” Enzo says.

“I can own my sexuality and still have feelings.”

“Feelings do not make you strong all the time,” he whispers.

“Being in love with me would make us weak?” I ask, scoffing with disbelief.

His jaw tightened under his beard and let out an exasperated breath. His hand running frustratedly over his thickened beard.

“Amelia,” he breathes.

A woman suddenly enters the tattoo shop from the unlocked door. She was a thin woman with black hair and olive skin. Her midnight blue pantsuit proved she was a businesswoman of some type. Behind her back hanging over her shoulder was a heavy dress bag.

“Triste, I am late,” she says, her Italian accent thick and her English very short.

“You are right on time. This is Amelia,” Enzo says, placing his hand on my lower back guiding me up from the seat I was sat in.

“Ciao,” I say, carefully eyeing her and her connection with him.

“Ciao,” she says quickly.

“This is my assistant, Deanna. She has something for you,” he says, placing a kiss on my cheek.

He quickly lets his hand off my back and starts to walk out of the tattoo shop.

“Enzo!” I call out after him, my words falling upon a closed door.

“Stronzo,” I mutter under my breath at the now closed door.

I had no premise for what was in her dress bag or even what she was doing here. She oversaw my hair and makeup being done with authority. She truly was worthy of being Enzo’s assistant. Two hours later, I stood in front of a large mirror in the most stunning ballgown I have ever seen. My hair curled down and hanging below my shoulders. A deep purple beaded crown sitting on top of my head, pinned within the deep curls of my hair. I felt regal. I felt beautiful. I smoothed out the lavender tulle before my fingers grazed over the lilac flower lace appliques for the shoulder straps and down the bodice.

The reflection in the mirror in front of me is someone I don’t recognize. I have never worn anything this beautiful and I am in Venice with the man whom I have let into my life and turn it upside down. If I was here with Finn, would I even know about my family? I told Finn who I really am. Why won’t I tell Enzo? Is he falling in love with me or the persona of me?

My thoughts are stopped when the door to the tattoo shop opens, and Enzo enters wearing a full black tux with suit tails. A black Venezia masquerade mask around his eyes. He looked good. Like a model of GQ at the Oscars type good. The words are lost to me, and I forgot how to breathe.

A Venezia mask. Carnevale?

“Wow,” Enzo breathes.

He walks closer to me, his grip tightening around my hands as he takes them in his.

“If it weren’t for those ice blue eyes I wouldn’t have known who you were,” I tease.

“These eyes always get me in trouble,” he whispers.

“I’m pretty sure it’s that playboy grin and your moves in bed that makes you trouble,” I jeer, a teasing giggle escaping from my lips.

He nods in response, before releasing my hands from his and taking out a black lace Venezia mask from his suit jacket pocket. He places it softly against my eyes before tying its thin ribbon in a bow behind my head.

“You are gorgeous, amore,” he says, his tone soft and gentle.

“Grazie, amore,” I say quietly.

“Do you know where we are going?” Enzo asks.

“Carnevale, but that’s in February and it’s almost September,” my lips turning upwards into a hopeful smile.

“Are you willing to forget about everything and fully change your identity for a night?” he asks, placing a soft kiss against my lips.

If you only knew.

“Absolutely.”

“Remember, Carnevale ogni scherzo vale,” he recites, pressing his lips against mine with a subtle breath.

“Anything goes on Carnival Day,” I translate.

“Anything, amore,” he says, his classic beaming smile covering his face.

That’s the smile. That’s MY Enzo. Can I trust him like I trust Finn?

* * *

Tags: Brittany McMahan Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net